


wizard's chess

by sleepygrimm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Murder Mystery, Non-Canon Relationship, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygrimm/pseuds/sleepygrimm
Summary: The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched.they must be felt with the heart.-Helen KellerHe navigates through a person’s mind. Accessing thoughts and feelings.She navigates through intuitive perception. She foresees things before they happen.Together they are a formidable team. But can both be better enough to save the person they hold most dear.





	wizard's chess

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. i don't own the characters.  
I'm a fan of psychological thrillers and crime series. this is inspired from Silence of the Lambs and Seven. i have often wondered how the characters would fare outside the magical world. given their strength and weaknesses. 
> 
> My apologies for the graphic depictions of some scenes.  
PLEASE if this isn't your cup of tea. then best not to read it.  
divination, legilimency, occlumency in the contemporary world.
> 
> I guess, this is me and my twisted imagination.  
all errors are mine. 
> 
> Comments are welcome in whatever form. Thank you for reading!

_Three years ago._

She woke up with her hands underneath her. Her own weight holding them flat and immobile. She thought her hands were probably asleep by now. Her head is spinning. She remembered waiting for Hermione at a coffee shop. It’s probably the tea she ordered. Then she saw him.

He had a gun.

“Are—you there?” She whispered.

Nothing. Just the sound of her breathing.

She shivered for the first time. It was chilly and a little damp. The air was stale and in the tiniest corner of her mind, she knew she heard the sound of a little boy whimpering...An idea that she didn't even want to think about.

_No, it couldn't be that. It’s not even possible._

_Hermione..._

Slowly, she began working for her hands underneath her. She flexed her fingers slowly and slid them up herself until she touched the blindfold covering her eyes.

She pushed the cloth up her forehead, keeping her eyes closed. She drew a deep breath trying not to think how stale and thick the air seemed to be.

She opened her eyes and she saw total blackness. She blinked, turned her head back and forth, but saw nothing more.

Slowly, she pushed her hands outward. Still bent at the elbows, she touched something solid. It felt like...wood. She pushed against it hard with all her might but it didn’t give.

She tried not to panic, but by the time her hands groped around the darkness, a scream was crawling at the back of her throat and escaped.

_He’d buried you alive._

_And no one knows where you are._

_ \----------------------------  
_

_Voices, whispering..._

_Shhh...it’s okay. _

_Pine. Water. Running…_

_“My purple dragon...wait.”_

Hermione Granger no longer felt afraid for that sense of danger was always for the welfare of others. As an agent with the NCA, she encountered plenty of opportunities to fear for her well-being. There’s always that cold and hard edge on a daily basis. But it is difficult to fear death when the people that mattered most was gone.

Twenty years ago, a psychopathic killer known as Tom Riddle had brutally murdered her parents. She tried to repress the memory of his hand on her breast...of him ripping open her jeans and nearly being raped. It is after the loss and devastation that she was at the point of no return. After months and years of counseling, she had learned to live the unthinkable reality.

How did she muster the strength to keep going? Revenge? Justice? She’d gotten both. When the authorities finally captured the monster, she made sure the world was free of the heinous killer. A death sentence into Azkaban. The satisfaction and relief came but the hollow feeling and emptiness became constant.

But there was a glimmer of hope. A fragile bond had formed between her and the man who’d help her stop the nightmares. The development was completely unexpected, but surprisingly not unwelcome.

Draco Malfoy had given her something she’d been certain she would never again feel; the desire to live for more than revenge, far more than clipping their badge every morning. They have found something together. Something that felt real.

Those who have known his existence called him the Pursuer. He was unlike any man. Brooding, intense, impossible to read and yet deeply caring and self - sacrificing when it comes to the people he loves.

Like Hermione, he had this drive for justice. Having discovered his deranged aunt evaluated then helped a psychopath, he got fifty murders on his belt. Draco had dedicated his life to finding and stopping vicious killers that no one seemed able to catch.

But there’s a fine thread that connects them. For Hermione, it’s like remembering a dream, a whisper, the yearning to be close. For Draco, it calmed his mind like the softest silk, a caress in his heart. They both have gifts that neither of them can define or quantify.

But whatever they had found disappeared. Three years ago, Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from St. Mungo’s hospital, supposedly receiving treatment from an alleged heart condition. On Hallow’s eve, they both hurried home from work early to pick up their son from Malfoy Manor for the family's annual trick or treating. Scorpius was dressed as a Puft Marshmallow. He was three years old and walking was a balancing act for him in that costume. That was the first time Hermione saw her husband Draco laughed.

It was that same night that their son was taken from them.

And things were never the same again. Hermione blinked away the memories and decided on her current dilemma: Harry had asked Draco to work in the Special Crimes Unit.

His decision to step out of her life was unfair but, it was necessary to protect her.

He was determined to do whatever was necessary. even risking his life. The fear of losing her too was buried deep within him and hardened him like ice.

——————————----------

Special agent Harry James Potter always had a relaxed and unconcerned look to his face, with his perpetually untidy hair and his mother’s green eyes. The vivid scar on his forehead made his half-smile more dangerous than pleasant.

He went in search of the wired and focused Draco Malfoy. Finding him as expected in a small, windowless office in London.

“I told you I wasn't interested,” Draco said as soon as Harry appeared in the doorway.

Leaning against the jamb, Harry watched as the other man picked up his copies of the myriad paperwork. Involved in the missing-persons investigation.

“Do you enjoy going solo that much?” he asked mildly. “It has its drawbacks. I can offer you the support and resources you’re not likely to find anywhere else.”

“Probably. But I work alone. I hate bureaucracy and red tape,” Draco replied. “Both of which the NCA has in abundance.”

“I told you my unit is different,” Harry replied.

“You still report to the Director, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not that different.”

“I intend to make sure it is.”

Draco paused, looking at Harry with a slight frown, more curious than disbelieving. “Yeah, how do you plan to do that?”

“My agents won’t have to deal with the politics; that’ll be my job. I’ve spent years building my reputation, collecting and calling in favors, and twisting arms to make certain we’ll have much autonomy as possible in running our investigation.”

Somewhat mockingly, Draco said, “What, no rules?”

“You know better than that. Reasonable rules, only to placate the superiors and convince them that I’m not running a sideshow act. Low key, until there’s a record of successful case resolutions.”

“And you’re sure about the successes?”

“I wouldn't be doing this otherwise.”

“Yeah, well.” Draco closed his briefcase.

“I wish you luck, Potter, I really do. But I work best alone.”

“How can you be sure of that if you’ve never done it any other way?”

“I know myself.”

“What about your ability?”

“What about it?”

Harry smiled slightly. “How well do you know it?”

“I understand it well enough to use it.”

Deliberately, Harry said, “Then why can’t you find Ginny or even your son?”

Draco didn't rise to the bait, though his expression tightened and closed his hands into a tight fist. “It isn't that simple, and you know it.”

“Maybe it should be that simple. Maybe all it takes is the right sort of training and practice. To be able to control it as an investigative tool.”

“And maybe you’re full of shit,” Draco said.

“Prove me wrong.”

“Listen, I don’t have fucking time for this. I have an abduction victim to find.”

“Fair enough.” Potter barely hesitated before adding, “You’ve been running in circles, hunting, you feel it in you, but you’re afraid of what you’ll find. You’re holding out.”

“What?”

“You pick up the victim’s fear. That’s what your brain is hardwired to sense, telepathically or emphatically.”

Draco was silent.

“Which is it? — their thoughts or their emotions?”

Grudgingly, Draco said. “Both.”

“You were taught by two great minds. The other being deranged but still exceptional. I never had the privileged. Or maybe I wasn't cut out for it.”

“So, you feel them and their thoughts.”

“The pain and fear are stronger. More certain. The thoughts are mere whispers.” Draco said.

“Like some static, in and out of range.”

“Something like that.”

“So, it’s the sense of pain and fear that connects you to them.”

Draco nodded.

“The stronger the fear, the intensity of pain, the more connected I am,” Draco replied.

“But people handle their emotions differently. Some bury their pain, deny their fear, or hold on to it tightly that I have trouble sensing it.”

“The fear of...death?”

Meeting Harry’s gaze, Draco shrugged and said, “helpless and dying.”

“And when they stop feeling that?”

Draco didn't respond.

“Is it because of their dead?”

“Sometimes.”

“Cut the bullshit, be honest with me.”

“All right. Usually. Usually, I stop sensing them because there’s no fucking fear or pain. No thoughts. No life. Is that what you fucking want to hear?” Just saying it made Draco angry, and he didn't try to hide that.

“The way it is now. With Ginny.” Harry said.

“I will find her.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

“In time?”

The question hung in the air between the two men for a long moment, and then Draco picked up his briefcase and took the two steps necessary to get to the door.

Harry stepped aside, silent.

Draco walked past him but turned back before he reached the top of the stairs. Abruptly, he said, “I’m sorry. I can't find her for you.”

“I know. Hermione—can’t see her either. But your son, she kept dreaming about him.”

Harry’s expression did not change, but the scar twisting on his forehead. “I didn't ask,” he said, after a pause.

“You didn't have to. I pick up on fear, remember? And I know my son is still out there. Because I can sense her. And she’s not acting alone.”

Harry didn't say another word. He just stood there. And looked at Draco until he was gone.

\----------------------------

_After five months._

“I almost didn't call you.” Luna Lovegood said as Harry joined her at the top of the ravine in the forest. “To be honest, this isn't such a good idea for you to handle this case. The agency should have given this to somebody else. Are you sure you want to go down with me there? Can you handle it?”

Without commenting on that, Harry merely said, “Is he down there?”

“Yes, with her. Not that there’s a whole lot left.” Luna eyed Harry. “I have no idea how he found her. Those special gifts of his, I guess.”

“Cause of death?” Harry asked.

“That’s for the coroner to say. Like I said there isn't a whole lot left. And what is left is being exposed to the elements. I have no idea what killed her or how she died.” Luna said.

“You’re not even sure if she was abducted?”

Luna shook her head.” From the little we could have found there, who knows. She could have been lying there all this time.”

“You think the coroner will be able to determine the cause of death? Harry asked.

“I’d be surprised. From bones, a few shreds of skin, and some hair? We wouldn't be able to I.D. Her so fast. If it weren't for the bag and some identifications which were mostly intact.”

“So, she wasn't robbed. Anything missing?” Harry inquired.

“The killer, if there was, didn't take anything.”

Harry nodded. And picked his way down the steep slope.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Luna said.

He passed a few crime-scene investigators but didn't pause until he joined Draco in the shade of a twisted little tree.

He appeared different from the last time he saw him. He was scruffy, unshaven, his clothing rumpled as he slept in it. if he had slept that is. He stood, hands in his pockets, and stared down the ground.

What held his gaze were bits and pieces only experts would have recognized as human.

“You knew. From the moment you have got here, you knew she was dead.” Draco said.

“Not from the moment that I’ve got here.”

Draco turned his head, staring at Harry incredulously. “and said nothing?”

“I knew she was dead. I didn’t know where she was. Six months to be exact. I didn’t know what to do. Or who to tell. I can’t even tell my kids. No one would believe me.”

“I might have,” Draco said.

“I didn't want to. Because I knew you will find her yourself. So, I waited.”

“Knowing all the time that she was dead?”

Harry nodded.

“You’re such a bastard.”

“Sometimes.”

Draco grimaced and returned his haunted gaze at the remains of Ginevra Potter.

“It ends this way more often than not.” His voice was beyond exhausted. “because I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't good enough.”

“She was long dead before you even got here. And we both know it.” Harry said.

“It’s impossible to predict the future, to know ahead of time of what’s going to happen next.

Impossible to have that edge in investigation And I don't believe that. I believe that clairvoyance, precognition, telepathy, and empathy and other paranormal abilities can be tools to give us more than an edge. To make us may be better or faster. Someone who is on sabbatical leave, someone you know is proving that theory.”

After a moment, Draco turned his head and met Harry’s steady gaze. “Okay, I’m listening.”


End file.
